


A Song for All Seasons

by CantStopImagining



Category: Ghostbusters (2016)
Genre: Did I mention fluff? This is so fluffy, Domestic Fluff, F/F, Fluff, Seasons, Soft sex mentions (nothing graphic)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-10
Updated: 2016-10-10
Packaged: 2018-08-21 17:32:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8254402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CantStopImagining/pseuds/CantStopImagining
Summary: “You know this place is gonna be full of teenagers making out, right?” Holtzmann says, a moment later, waggling her eyebrows, and it might just be the low evening sun glinting off the lenses of her goggles, but her eyes twinkle, and Erin groans.or, Holtzmann and Erin through the seasons.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write something soft and warm and nice for these two because those are the types of fic I enjoy writing most, and this came out of that. It's so fluffy and sweet it will probably make your teeth hurt.
> 
> The timeline of this movie is frustrating and I don't know when anything happened so I picked a season and went with it. Special thanks to Niamh for helping me out of my 'spring' funk.

1\. Fall

They sleep together for the first time with the sound of horizontal rain hitting the window over Holtzmann’s bed. Erin quietly turns the light off as soon as it becomes clear what they’re about to do, but the blinds are open, casting dim stripes of light across the pale sheets from a street lamp outside. As Holtzmann’s hands drift over her, and her lips brush against her skin, and Erin’s finger nails dig into the soft, warm expanse of Holtzmann’s hips, she’s not sure whether the sparks of light that dance across her vision are from the storm outside, or the feeling of coming undone at the skilled hands of the engineer. She tenses, a crash of thunder rolling across the sky at exactly the same moment that she comes, and it’s ridiculous and romantic, and Erin feels Holtzmann’s laughter vibrating against her collar bone. She can’t help but laugh too. It sums them up perfectly.

They don’t define what it is they’re doing right away. Erin knows that Holtzmann has feelings for her, feels it in the way she peppers soft kisses across her cheeks when she wakes up, sees it in the smile that seems to envelope her entire being whenever they’re around each other. She isn’t blind, much less stupid. Erin wishes she could be as confident in herself as Holtzmann is, or seems to be. She wishes she didn’t have this voice in the back of her head telling her this is just another way of acting out, another thing that people will accuse her of lying about. Another dig at her parents, another ‘screw you’ to the normal life they’d always wanted their daughter to have. She wishes she could be certain that what she felt was real. She wishes she could voice it, that she didn’t have to confine it to secrets and closed doors and whispered conversations.

Erin’s never been a strong person. Holtzmann has enough strength in her for the both of them. Or so Erin thinks.

Erin sees the way her face falls when she laughs off the speculation. She hears the shake in her voice, notices the way her shoulders sag, the quiet, emotionless way she moves around her machines that afternoon.

It’s raining when Erin wakes up. It’s early, too early to get up, even for her, and Holtzmann’s fast asleep, one hand curled against Erin’s thigh, the other hanging off the bed. She’s not a pretty sleeper. She drools, and snores quietly, and her limbs are always sprawled, her hair a messy halo across her pillow. It’s the only time she’s somewhat still, though. Erin takes the time to map out the slopes and angles of her face, the soft line of her nose, the delicate curve of her lips, the flutter of her eyelashes. She gently kisses the freckle below her eye, and Holtzmann murmurs, moves slightly into her. Careful not to wake her, Erin slips out of bed, pulling on the grey NASA sweatshirt Holtz keeps at the end of the bed. She goes to the kitchen, listens to the thud of rain against the skylight as she makes a pot of coffee. Her nose is cold, and her toes curl against the linoleum tiles, but it’s peaceful, gazing out at the rain, watching droplets roll down the small window over the sink.

The pot of coffee has gone cold by the time Erin hears Holtzmann’s footsteps, and she’s still holding her cup to her face, though it’s empty.

Holtz is wrapped in the blanket from the bed, her hair sticking up. She’s bleary eyed. Her feet are warm in the pair of thick knit socks Erin was wearing yesterday.

“You weren’t there when I woke up,” she says.

 Holtzmann in the morning is almost a different species to Holtzmann in the day. She’s fuzzy around the edges, her voice throatier, her words less punctuated by humour. Erin likes this Holtzmann a lot. She likes that it’s reserved only for her.

“I couldn’t sleep,” Erin tells her, finally putting the empty mug down. She’s sitting on the counter top, her face inches away from the window. Holtzmann’s cat sits next to her. He’s still wary, and staying a distance away, stealing tiny sips of water from the dripping faucet. Holtzmann scratches him behind the ears, before leaning in to kiss Erin.

She tastes like morning breath, but Erin finds herself not minding it.

“I think we should tell Abby and Patty,” she says, her hand cupping Holtz’s jaw.

“So, there is something to tell them?” Holtzmann’s eyes twinkle, and Erin smiles, kissing her again.

They move back to bed and the sex is slow and lazy and perfect. Erin collapses in Holtzmann’s arms, forehead resting against her shoulder, breathing shallow. She loops her fingers through limp blonde curls, smiles against skin damp with sweat, and she thinks for the first time, _god, I think I might be in love._

The thought doesn’t scare her as much as she thought it would.

-

2\. Winter

Erin hates the snow. If she thought slime was hazardous, solid, frozen slime is worse, and she finds herself falling face first into it on multiple occasions. She isn’t graceful. She trades her bright white sneakers for sky blue rubber boots, doesn’t care what people think of her for the first winter in years.

Holtzmann seems to be having a contest with herself for how many layers she can feasibly wrap herself in. She wears three shirts somedays, two sweaters and a jacket on others. It makes Erin laugh watching her get ready in the morning. Maybe that’s why she’s doing it.

They haven’t officially moved in together, but Erin spends less and less time at her own apartment. The cat has stopped giving her the evils, wraps himself around her legs from time to time, even curls up between them on the bed occasionally when he’s really seeking warmth. Erin thinks she’s been accepted. That’s a feeling that is still unfamiliar to her.

Abby gets this look, sometimes, that makes Erin’s heart soar. Her eyes crinkle around the edges, and she has this lopsided smile on her face, and she looks so absolutely thrilled that her two best friends are in love that it’s a little hard to take in. She pretends to be irritated by them, but Erin sees through it. She’s known her for too long.

“I’m glad you’re happy, y’know,” Abby tells her over a steaming cup of hot soup, the windows of the firehouse frosted over, and the tip of her nose pink.

“Me too,” Erin agrees, and she rests her head against Abby’s shoulder, can’t remember the last time she was this at peace with herself.

Holtzmann takes her to a German Christmas market and they eat schnitzel and bratwurst and Danish pancakes, and drink mulled wine out of paper cups. They spend ten minutes picking out tiny wooden figurines for the tree back at the firehouse, and Holtzmann buys more novelty candles than any one person could ever need. They hold gloved hands, and walk through the rows upon rows of fast food vendors and quaint ornaments, Holtzmann pointing out the most ridiculous things she can find, anything to make Erin laugh. And she does. She laughs with abandon, the kind of laugh that is full-bodied and unattractive, head thrown back, trying not to snort. Holtzmann buys Patty an ugly little wooden goblin which she thinks might be cursed, and Erin laughs so hard at the gleeful expression on her face that tears spring to her eyes. They leave the market with arms full of brown paper bags, and cheeks rosy from the cold.

Erin sleeps in Holtzmann’s NASA sweatshirt, and flannel pyjama pants. Holtzmann’s a duvet hog, and Erin’s always freezing, so she takes to bringing extra blankets to bed, falls asleep with her nose buried in blonde hair, their legs tangled together to stop her toes getting cold. Her hands are like ice blocks, and Holtzmann yelps when she touches her with them, letting out a noise that doesn’t sound human. She rubs Erin’s fingers to get the circulation going before she’ll let her under her clothes.

Christmas draws closer. Abby packs for Michigan, and Patty searches for gifts for her eight nieces and nephews, returning from countless shopping trips red in the face and complaining about other customers. (When a store assistant finally finds the action figure her ten year old niece wants, she tips him $20 and lifts him off the floor in a bear hug.) Holtzmann fixes up string lights and works on a lit up sign of their logo to hang over the front of the firehouse, the ghost wearing a santa hat. She calls them the ‘ho ho hostbusters’ for a week. Erin rolls her eyes, but can’t stop smiling.

She doesn’t go to Michigan this year, doesn’t want the uncomfortable conversation with her parents over dinner, the looks of concern and the strained, faked interest in her work. She hasn’t told them about Holtzmann, and she doesn’t want to. Holtz doesn’t have plans either, has no family to visit, no traditions to go along with. 

They decide on a quiet Christmas just the two of them, and it’s perfect. They don’t get out of bed, except to eat, and instead of the traditional ham, they order thai food. They drink egg nog, and share stories about their childhood holidays. As the evening creeps in, Holtz lights the variety of candles she bought at the market: tiny tea lights in ceramic dishes; long, skinny, coloured candles; cinnamon scented ones in glass jars. There’s a lantern carved from a tree trunk, an intricate night sky design sending flickering lights dancing across the ceiling. Erin’s anxious about letting Holtzmann play with fire, instructs her on how far away from the bed the candles need to be, but can’t help the gasp she lets out when Holtzmann turns the light off. It’s stunning.

Erin falls asleep halfway through The Muppet Christmas Carol, waking up to a drunk voicemail from Abby, and Holtzmann singing quietly along to the finale of the movie. Abby’s professing her slurred love to her, and Holtzmann’s snuggled into her side, tracing lazy patterns on her skin, and Erin closes her eyes, smiles, tries to take it all in. They’ve agreed not to do gifts this year, which is fine by Erin; this is all the gift she needs.

-

3\. Spring

By now, the Ghostbusters work together like a well-oiled machine. Erin’s fingers are attuned to the weight of her proton gun. They no longer stumble for the trigger, but dance smoothly over it, squeezing gently, a practiced movement that’s deep in her muscle memory. The team split off into pairs without discussion. She knows the meaning behind every slight curve of Holtzmann’s lips, every hand gesture from Abby, every tilt of Patty’s head. There’s an unexpected casualness to it after a while, the way conversation seeps into the edges, the quips Holtzmann makes, the laughter, the way Erin rolls her eyes when a ghost moves to ectoplasm over her, but disintegrates before it gets the chance. Some busts are more serious than others, and the adrenaline rush never stops, the way her heart pounds in her chest and the slip-slide of her feet over new surfaces, the ache when her body connects with a wall… it’s all still there, but it feels different. Easier, somehow.

Erin and Holtz fall into step with each other in other ways too. Waking up together becomes normal. They travel easily into work together, laughing and bickering on public transport, stealing kisses waiting in line for coffee. As the sun begins to make its way out of the clouds, and the mornings warm up, they skip the hustle and bustle of the subway for walking to work, hand in hand. When Erin overestimates the weather and winds up shivering in her short sleeved shirt, Holtzmann slips out of her leather jacket and, even as Erin protests, quickly drapes it around her shoulders. They dance their way through the crowds of long-faced commuters and business suits, Holtz walk-running backwards, Erin chasing after her trying to look stern, but giggling, looking ridiculous in smart pants and a pink blouse, with the worn leather jacket around her like a cape.

Everything she does with Holtzmann is fun in a way that Erin never knew it could be. Travelling to work, grocery shopping, nights in in front of the tv… even sex. She never expected to laugh so much during sex. Sure, it’s explosive and heavy and all-consuming at times, too, but sometimes there’s as much laughter as there is moaning, and they wind up punch-drunk on eachother, Holtzmann whispering things like ‘we have blast off’ at the most inappropriate moment, or blowing raspberries on her stomach when she’s kissing her way down her body. They fall off the bed more than once. Erin’s goofy dancing, and the way she shimmies out of her clothes sometimes in the least sexy way possible, and her awkward flirting, and all of the other things that she’s always had to hide for fear of being rejected, spill out. Holtzmann loves all of them, and Erin loves making her laugh, loves the way her nose scrunches up, and how loud and hearty her laugh is when it’s entirely unexpected. It’s ugly, even, and Erin lives for it.

“God, I’m gonna marry you one day,” Holtzmann says between laughs, attempting to suck air into her lungs as her chest hurts from the physical exertion, stray tears visible in her bottom lashes.

It’s like time slows down. Erin stops laughing. Her heart’s hammering in her chest, and she thinks she must have heard wrong, because Holtzmann doesn’t seem the least bit perturbed, is still laughing that obnoxious, addictive laugh. But she did hear it. The words are there now, hanging between them, and the stupid, non-sexy dance Erin was doing is entirely forgotten.

“What?” she manages, folding her arms across her bare stomach, suddenly feeling self-conscious. Her shirt’s undone, and she’s in her underwear, and Holtzmann is watching her from the bed like she’s entirely in awe, and that’s just about become something she’s used to, but those words?

“Oh,” Holtzmann says, finally seeming to twig what’s going on, and her lips turn up in a slow smile, that breaks out across her face in a cheshire cat size grin, “I guess I said that out loud, didn’t I?”

“Holtz,” Erin breathes, unfolding her arms, her fingers clenching and unclenching, “you…”

“I’m gonna wife you up,” Holtzmann says, happily, like a child who has just learnt a new word and is proud of themselves. She’s positively beaming.

Erin feels her throat close up. She remembers the first time Holtzmann told her she loved her, Erin sitting eating ice cream in the middle of winter, in their bed (she calls it that now, subconsciously, without thinking about it), and she’d thought it was a joke, and it hadn’t been, and she’d cried. Cried big wet tears and felt like an idiot. A mess. ‘My mess’, Holtzmann had called her, running soft fingers over her face, and kissing her breathless. Since then, they’d said it at any given opportunity, though the words still seemed foreign to Erin’s tongue. 

This, though. This was something bigger.

“If that’s a proposal you’re going to have to work a little harder,” she jokes, because she’s not allowing herself to cry again, but it comes out hollow and unfunny.

Holtzmann smiles at her, crawls down the bed on all fours, and kisses her, tugging Erin down onto the mattress with a small yelp.

-

4\. Summer

They ease into the summer with a barbecue on the roof. Technically, it’s breaking at least four health and safety regulations, and probably a handful of state laws too, but the idea of it is so nice that even Erin, a stifler for rules, can’t find it in herself to say no. Holtzmann builds a barbecue that she promises isn’t nuclear, and goes over the safety points with a manic grin and a flourish of her long handled forceps. She positions herself over the device with the tip of her tongue sticking out between her teeth, and her goggles pulled down over her eyes, watching the sausages sizzle through yellow lenses. She bickers with Patty over the steak, and Erin and Abby watch them from the deck chairs they’ve dragged up three flights of stairs, Erin sticking her tongue out at Holtzmann through the haze of smoke from the barbecue.

“They’re like an old married couple,” Abby observes, stretching her legs out. Her jeans are rolled to the knees, and she’s wearing a sleeveless shirt, her pale skin already ever so slightly red in the late afternoon sun.

“I should be worried about that, shouldn’t I?” Erin says, wrinkling her nose, her eyes darting to Abby, and then back to Holtz and Patty, who seem to be having a fight with the barbecue tongs, “I’m not.”

They lay the food out on a table made out of overturned crates and half a dozen old fire extinguishers, and conversation flows easily around them. Kevin and Holtzmann talk animatedly about an indoor paintball match they’re both thinking about attending (Holtz has been trying to talk Erin into going for weeks, but it’s a firm no), Abby and Patty discussing the latest book the latter’s been reading. Erin sits in an easy silence, watching the two conversations go on around her, and feeling content, happy to just bask in these people that she calls family.

All too soon, the heat picks up. By the end of July, it’s painfully hot, and it doesn’t matter how high they turn the dial on the ‘improved’ humidifier Holtzmann sets up in their main office; it’s unbearable. Abby’s stuffing ice packs into her bra, and Erin comes to work in shorts and a tank top, and even that ends up tied into a knot. (She feels Holtz’s eyes on her all day, and it’s distracting to say the least, and when she corners her in the kitchen, pressing her against the open fridge door, her lips on Erin’s neck, it’s all Erin can do not to give in. But rules are rules, and Patty and Abby have been _very_ clear.) They eat ice cream by what feels like the gallon. Even when they’re not eating it, they’re sitting with tubs of it quickly defrosting in their laps, or with popsicles laid out on their necks as they work.

Busts are the worst. There’s no way of getting around it. The combination of thick overalls, heavy metal proton packs, and ghosts running them ragged makes every bust exhausting. Erin fears she’s going to get heat stroke from the car journeys alone, with the legs of her overalls rolled up as far as they’ll go, and the zipper pulled halfway down. Holtzmann ties the top half of hers round her waist, parades around in a tank top, refuses to dress properly for busts even when Patty points out how dangerous it is.

 She gets slimed. Twice. Erin can’t help it if she looks pleased. It serves her right.

Holtzmann’s birthday is August 27th. This fact isn’t one easily gotten out of her, but Erin sees it jotted down on paperwork she fills out for the mayor’s office in October, and keeps the information safe until the date almost comes around. She doesn’t mention it, though. The day comes around, and she’s careful to treat it like a normal day. Abby says Holtzmann doesn’t celebrate, and Erin doesn’t want to push. It’s a Sunday, so they don’t have to work, and Erin wakes Holtzmann up with soft kisses and gentle hands running over the curves of her body. Holtz wakes with a groggy smile, and they have slow, delicate sex, the sun streaming in through open blinds, making Holtzmann’s bed hair look like strands of gold. They have breakfast in nothing but t-shirts, and Erin steals a bite of Holtzmann’s pancakes, despite insisting she didn’t want any. She drinks black coffee and eats over-ripened fruit, juice dripping down her fingers and chin, Holtzmann reaching across to kiss it off. It’s quiet bliss.

As the evening rolls around, Erin stuffs Holtzmann into the car under the ruse of a drive to look at scenery. They drive for what seems like miles, before stopping at an open air movie theatre.

“What’s this?” Holtzmann asks, her brow furrowed.

“They’re showing Back to the Future Part Two,” Erin replies, and she can feel her stomach knotting, suddenly unsure that she made the right decision.

Holtzmann is uncharacteristically quiet for a moment, before turning to look at Erin, “how did you know?”

“I saw it on one of your forms… I didn’t want to pry…”

She nods, blonde curls bobbing about, and her hand finding its way into Erin’s lap, fingers curling around Erin’s.

“Thank you,” Holtzmann breathes, her lips quirking up into a smile, “I love you almost as much as I love Back to the Future.”

Erin laughs, swats at her, but is quietly pleased.

“You know this place is gonna be full of teenagers making out, right?” Holtzmann says, a moment later, waggling her eyebrows, and it might just be the low evening sun glinting off the lenses of her goggles, but her eyes twinkle, and Erin groans.

They sit on the hood of the Ecto-3, curled into one another, and watch the movie until Erin can feel her eyelids growing heavy, her head resting against Holtzmann’s shoulder. With the sun setting in the distance, she thinks this is the most beautiful Holtzmann has ever looked, and she wishes she could stay in this moment forever. Her eyes drift closed.

“I’m not sure we should be sitting on here… that stuff on the roof’s pretty nuclear,” Holtzmann whispers, her mouth close to Erin’s ear.

Erin groans again, briefly wondering how she’s put up with this woman for nearly a year, but smiling at the thought of putting up with her forever.

**Author's Note:**

> Come shout at me about Ghostbusters on tumblr @katemckutie.


End file.
